The Best Lies
by OnyxBird
Summary: A collection of short stories about Neal, Peter, and the rest of the White Collar crowd. "Dad": Neal surprises Peter by taking their cover story in an unexpected direction. "The Trees": Neal shows his colleagues an interesting collection of his paintings.
1. Dad, Part 1

The Best Lies

White Collar fanfic

"Just remember that the best lies carry an element of truth." – Neal Caffrey, "Pulling Strings"

The company party was in full swing, and Neal and Peter did their best to blend in. The case was fairly run-of-the-mill. They were making slow headway in unearthing an embezzler, but the culprit had covered his tracks so carefully that it was difficult even to ascertain exactly where he was siphoning the money from. The team hoped one of their suspects would let something slip during the company's 25th anniversary bash.

Peter was easily keeping his cover as new accountant Peter White, but hadn't been able to draw any confidences out of his coworkers so far. He'd made sure to get Neal an invitation to the party, hoping his charming partner would have better luck. An hour into the gathering, he desperately wished he could have brought El—she was so much better at party small talk than he was. He had just taken advantage of his empty glass to extract himself from a painfully boring conversation about sales figures for one of the company's myriad widgets and doodads when he ran into Neal at the drinks table.

"How's it going?" asked Neal.

"If I have to hear one more time about the new advertising campaign, I may go insane," said Peter. "It doesn't even make any sense!"

"It's advertising," said Neal, shrugging, "It doesn't matter if it makes sense as long as it gets people to buy the product."

The peace of chatting with Neal was short-lived. An executive's wife was making a beeline for Neal, with several other people in tow. Neal groaned slightly when he saw her coming. "Oh, god, no. That must be the daughter she was insisting on introducing to me. I really hoped she was joking about that." He noticed Peter's raised eyebrow. "What? You said hobnob, charm people, and get them to talk to me! I was being charming like you asked—how was I supposed to know she'd try to set me up with her daughter?"

"Well, lesson learned, I guess" said Peter, trying not to laugh. It wasn't helpful for their mission to have Neal warding off would-be girlfriends or their mothers, but it was certainly amusing to see the always-suave Neal Caffrey as uncomfortable at a party as he was. On second thought, he wasn't looking forward to being trapped in a conversation with that woman, either. They'd met earlier, and he had gotten the distinct impression that she considered mere accountants to rank somewhere around medieval serfs on the social ladder. Neal's good looks and charm had obviously landed him several rungs higher in her regard.

"There you are, Neal, dear," she gushed, beaming at him, "I thought you'd disappeared just when I wanted to introduce you to people." She glanced at Peter with a much dimmer smile. "Hello again, Mr..."

"White" supplied Peter.

"Mr. White. Yes, of course." She turned back to Neal, flirtatious again, "Neal, dear, I just realized that I never got _your_ last name! How silly of me!"

Neal was about throw a monkey wrench in the works. Peter didn't know how he knew that, but he did. There was just something about the way Neal straightened up and flashed his most dazzling smile that warned Peter that all their carefully-laid cover stories were about to be turned upside down, and it was too late to do anything about it.

"So, Neal what?" she simpered.

"Neal White." Neal gave his listeners a split second to start connecting the dots before wrapping an arm around Peter's shoulders and asking impishly, "You don't see the family resemblance?" He stage-whispered to Peter "I don't think they do, Dad. I _told_ you, you should have worn your hat."

Peter silently cursed Neal for putting him in this situation, but he'd had enough experience dealing with Neal's ad libs to cope. _Oh, what the hell_, he decided, and said the first thing to pop into his head as he looked at Neal's dark hair: "Well, you _do_ take more after your mother."

Neal burst into laughter. "Mom has some strong genes," he commented, eyes twinkling.

"Very strong genes," agreed Peter, gravely.

Neal leaned conspiratorially towards their puzzled but interested audience to let them in on the joke: "I'm adopted."

The ice was broken in a roar of hearty laughter. Neal fielded most of the following getting-to-know-you questions, every inch the charming, gregarious imp, allowing "Dad" take a more reserved role. Peter learned that he and his wife had adopted Neal when he was 12, after he'd bounced from foster home to foster home, and that Neal had been an established troublemaker who he'd wrangled back onto the straight and narrow (Peter enjoyed corroborating _that_ part of the tale—gently needling Neal with truthful commentary and anecdotes that fit quite plausibly into Neal's fictitious childhood).

The rest of the party went incredibly smoothly. In the space of one conversation, Peter's image among his "coworkers" had gone from asocial workaholic to reserved, modest family man. This new impression was only reinforced by Neal talking as if his "dad" had hung the moon and Peter's (futile) attempts to rein in the story before it got too elaborate and out of hand.

By the end of the evening, they had heard way more confidences, speculation, and general company gossip than Peter had expected. There had been no earth-shattering revelations, but they had picked up several solid leads—a good night, all-in-all, and considerably more fun than he'd anticipated. He and Neal stepped into the van to touch base with the rest of the team...and were met by huge grins from Diana and Jones. He'd forgotten that they'd been listening in the entire time.

"So, Peter, why didn't you tell us you and El had a kid?"


	2. Dad, Part 2

The Best Lies

Chapter 2: "Dad," Part 2

Peter and Neal climbed into Peter's car as the team dispersed for the night. Peter was grumpy after Jones' and Diana's merciless teasing about "his kid." Neal was blessedly silent for once, although he was still smiling to himself way more than Peter liked.

As they passed the first major crossroad, Peter noticed Neal glance out the window with a slightly puzzled expression. The next intersection earned a slightly longer look and a deeper frown. By the time they stopped at a red light, Peter was ready to ask Neal what on earth was wrong with him, but Neal turned to face him before he had the chance.

"Ok, Peter. Was I really so bad that I'm getting sent to my apartment without supper?" he asked, one eyebrow rising slightly.

Peter looked at his CI like he'd lost his mind. "Neal, what are you talking about? And I've had enough of the 'dad' jokes."

"Well, I'm pretty sure you told El that I would be coming back with you for dinner, but unless we're taking a _very_ indirect route, you're driving to June's. Thus my question: have I made you so mad that I'm being sent home without dinner?"

Peter had to stop and think for a moment. "I _did_ tell El that, didn't I? She wanted us to try that...uh...that fancy stuff from the new caterer."

Neal nodded. "Yeah. That 'fancy stuff.'"

Peter sighed and found a place to turn around. Once back on track, he glanced warningly over at Neal and pointed a stern finger at him. "Now, when El asks about how the event went, you are not going to tell her about your crazy adoption story, understand? I have heard quite enough about it already, and I want a nice, relaxing dinner."

"Yes, 'Dad'." He backpedaled at Peter's glare. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding! I won't tell Elizabeth; I promise."

After a few minutes of driving in silence, Peter couldn't help himself. "Why did you do that, anyway? You had a cover story, and I'm pretty sure it did not involve me adopting you."

"True, but I also hadn't said anything yet that conflicted with the adoption story, either. And there wasn't much chance that _you_ would have said anything, since our original covers didn't know each other. Besides," he said, with his most winning smile, "it worked! You said people weren't talking to you; now they love you!"

Peter frowned, "Neal, that's not what I asked you. I asked why you threw away your original cover for this wacky adoption story."

Neal was quiet for a few seconds, looking out the window. Then he answered quietly, "I didn't like that woman's attitude."

Peter gave him a confused look. "What woman? Mrs. Warren?"

"Yeah," said Neal, "She was acting like I was the best thing since sliced bread, flirting, trying to introduce her daughter to me...and she acted like you weren't even worth saying 'hello' to."

"Well," said Peter, "I don't think it was personal. I don't get the impression that accountants really show up on her social radar. Charming, well-dressed young men who like to talk about wine and art do." He shrugged. "Just the way things go. I don't really care for talking to snobs who spend all their time finding ways to flaunt their wealth, either, so it all works out in the end."

"Well, it bugged me. So, I decided if she wanted to talk to me so much, I'd make sure she had to be a little more civil."

Peter mulled this over for a moment. "So let me get this straight. You made up a new cover story on the fly—one heavily involving me, which means I was forced to participate in your little improvisation—all because you thought some rich snob was insulting me? Or actually, insulting my _cover_, who isn't even a real person?"

Neal fiddled with the door lock, avoiding eye contact. "Well, I wouldn't phrase it quite like that..." He shifted in his seat.

"Neal, was my summary wrong?"

"...No." Neal's eyes flicked quickly towards Peter, trying to assess just how ticked-off Peter was about this little revelation. He was pretty sure Peter didn't consider this a good reason for changing cover stories in the middle of a job.

"Well, Neal, I hate to tell you, but I really doubt adoptive-dad-accountant ranks a whole lot higher than plain old accountant on the Mrs. Warren social scale. So, I'm not going to hold my breath for any dinner party invitations just because you made me into adoptive dad of the year. That's probably a good thing. I bet she serves that 'fancy stuff.'"

"Probably," agreed Neal, with a relieved grin, "but poor 'Mom' is going to miss out if you don't go. You know she likes the 'fancy stuff.'"

"Then it's a good thing 'Mom' has her catering business, so she doesn't rely on me getting invited to these shindigs. And, speaking of 'Mom,' may I remind you—"

"I am not going to tell El about any of this."

"That's right."

Author's Note: Thanks for all of the encouraging reviews! It's been great to see that so many of you like the story!

I'll probably have one more short chapter for this storyline (it would be a shame to end without seeing El's take on the situation, and you know she'll end up finding out one way or another!), and then this will probably turn into a collection of comedy vignettes about the White Collar crew's "lies" (whether that's cover stories, forgeries, or attempts to hide secrets from each other). I've got a couple of ideas which may go up soon, but expect updates to be sporadic. It'll depend on when inspiration strikes and I find time to write.


	3. Dad, Part 3

The Best Lies

Chapter 3: "Dad," Part 3

Peter opened the door, and a delicious smell wafted out.

"Mmm. I'm glad I didn't get sent home; I definitely would have been missing out," said Neal.

"Neal," said Peter, warningly.

Neal smiled innocently, "My lips are sealed; not one word to El. Can we go in and eat now?"

Elizabeth heard the door and came over to greet them. "Hi, Hon. Hi, Neal." Peter got a kiss, and Neal a hug. Then, she planted herself firmly in front of them, one hand on her hip. "So. I just got a call from Diana," she began. Peter looked like a deer in the headlights. "Would you like to explain yourself?"

"Uh..." hedged Peter, trying to think what he'd done wrong that Diana would have been calling about, "Hon, could you give me a hint what I'm explaining?"

El gave him a reproachful look. "Honey," she began gravely, laying a hand on his arm, "why didn't you _tell_ me we had a son? This is not something a woman should have to find out from her husband's coworkers."

Peter had opened his mouth to respond when he heard the snickering—no, make that _giggling_—from behind him. He turned around to find Neal leaning against the wall, trying desperately to muffle his laughter. Peter's glare just made him laugh harder. Satchmo had ambled over to be petted and was now eyeing Neal with confusion and some concern. Head tilted, forehead wrinkled, ears pricked forward—after a moment, he looked back towards Peter and El, as if looking for reassurance that Neal wasn't being tortured by some invisible tickling monster. El had thus far valiantly maintained her straight, concerned-wife face, even in the face of Neal's uncharacteristic giggling fit, but Satchmo's expression finally cracked her.

She reached down to pet the now even more confused dog, "It's ok, Satchmo. Neal's ok. At least I _think_ he's ok—Neal, sweetie, you're scaring the dog." She looked back at Peter. "Now I _really_ want to know what happened at that party."

Neal finally choked back his laughter enough to speak. "Sorry, Satchmo." He looked at El, "Peter swore me to secrecy on the way home. I knew you'd find out, but I thought you'd pry it out of _him_, not hear it from Diana!"

Peter finally rallied in his own defense: "Why would I expect to need to tell you these things? I thought mothers usually knew when they had kids. If one of the parents doesn't know, it's usually the father."

"Well, when it's done in the traditional manner, yes," said El, "but according to what _I_ heard, Neal is adopted. And I certainly hope so; I am not old enough to have a child his age." She held onto her hands-on-hips posture for a few seconds before dissolving into laughter. "Come on, Peter, admit it. It is funny. Diana said it went pretty well for the operation, too."

Peter sighed, "Ok, it was kind of funny, and it did end pretty well." His voice dropped to a stage whisper, "But don't tell Neal that. It would only encourage him, and you know where that leads."

Neal grinned behind him, where he sat on the floor scratching Satchmo's ears. "Hey, 'Mom,' wasn't there some plan to have 'fancy stuff' for dinner? 'Dad' wasn't really much more specific than that. Can we eat now?" he asked, turning on his best puppy eyes.

Peter shook his head at El. "He has to be your kid. He did not inherit a taste for that stuff from me. And he doesn't even like baseball."

Neal jumped in, "Well, there were those baseball _cards_ you were telling Mr. Johnston about."

"What baseball cards?" asked El.

"The ones 'Dad' caught me forging in the basement when I was fourteen. You must remember. 'Dad' was furious."

"Ohhh. The ones you forged. Naturally. You and Peter are going to have to refresh my memory about that incident while we eat. Neal, why don't you set the table while Peter and I get the pot roast and the 'fancy stuff' from the kitchen?"

The End.

Author's Note:

Sorry about the delay. I've been busy with school/work stuff for a while and wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do with this chapter anyway. This is the end of this particular story, but I hope to (sporadically) add future chapters of other White Collar short stories, probably one-shots. Hope you enjoyed it!


	4. The Trees

The Trees

"White Collar" fanfic

Peter had an odd look on his face as he beckoned Neal into his office. Neal wasn't sure whether he should be concerned. Peter usually had a similar look when he was trying to hide his amusement at something Neal had done long enough to scold him for it, but Neal couldn't think of anything he had done recently that was scold-worthy. Unless they had uncovered additional evidence from one of his _previous_ crimes...It was probably best just to let Peter tell him what was going on.

Diana and Jones were already waiting. Neal smiled and took the open chair. "New case?" he asked.

"Not...exactly," said Peter. He was using his very cautious tone, too, the one he used when he knew what he was about to say was going to go to Neal's head. Or give him ammunition for teasing. Or "give him ideas."

Neal waited for a few seconds to see if Peter was going to continue. "So...what is it, 'exactly'?"

Peter sighed. "We need a painting." Neal raised an eyebrow, waiting for more details. "Specifically, another team needs a painting that could be..._mistaken_ for the work of a famous artist. But _not_ a forgery," he said, one finger raised warningly at Neal, who was starting to smile. "_Not_ a forgery," he repeated.

Neal grinned. "What artist do you want people to 'mistake' it for, and how closely are people going to be looking at it? And _who_ is going to be looking at it?"

"An artist whose work would sell for a lot of money. We want something that would draw a reasonably knowledgeable art enthusiast across the room for a closer look. It doesn't need to actually stand up to that closer look. Can you do it?"

"Actually," said Neal, "I think I already have it."

Peter, Diana, and Jones stared at him incredulously. Neal shrugged innocently. "What? You don't like me being prepared?"

Peter sighed again. "It's not so much that you're prepared that bothers me. It's wondering what you were preparing _for_."

…

Neal unlocked the door of the storage unit where he stored his hobby paintings. His colleagues were obviously curious. They knew Neal wouldn't have brought them if he was keeping forgeries tucked away here, but they weren't really sure what to expect instead. Neal flipped on the light and walked over to a stack of canvases and started to flip through them. "Come take a look. Several of these would probably work. I've got a Degas—a painting in the _style_ of a Degas, that is. _Not_ a forgery of actual Degas, of course, and completely lacking any semblance of Degas' signature" he added to Peter.

"Of course," agreed Peter, shaking his head, "because you'd never do such a thing."

"—and one in the style of Da Vinci," Neal continued blithely. "And one in the style of Monet—"

"Oh, that one's nice!" Peter commented.

Neal stopped flipping through the canvases and pulled out the Monet-style painting. "You like the Monet?"

Peter looked startled, as if he was just realizing what he'd said. "Oh. I didn't mean that's the right one for the job, necessarily. I'm not sure which would work best. I just—" He looked sheepish. "That one's pretty."

Neal smiled. "Thank you."

Jones interrupted suddenly. "Ok, Caffrey. I guess I get why you'd have a bunch of paintings in the 'style' of other painters. You keep in practice without anyone being able to pin a forgery charge on you...But what is _this_ one?"

Peter and Diana came over to look at the canvas Jones had pulled out. It was a landscape painting, a beautiful blue sky over a nice flowery meadow surrounded by a forest. They pondered it in silence for a few moments. Neal pondered it with them. He seemed somewhat embarrassed.

Diana finally broke the silence. "There is something creepy about that forest."

"I know," said Jones. The silence continued.

"The rest of it seems so cheerful."

"I know." More silence.

"Neal? Whose style _is_ this supposed to be?"

Neal hesitated, and finally spoke: "Bob Ross."

His three colleagues stared at him like he'd grown a second head. Neal sighed and decided there was no point in stopping now. "I had this weird dream. For some bizarre reason, Mozzie and I were trying to forge a Bob Ross painting. Don't ask me what we were planning to do with it; I have no idea. All I remember is that Mozzie kept making me start over because the trees 'weren't happy enough.'"

Diana choked back a strangled sound that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Neal smiled wryly. "I know. It was _weird_ dream. Anyway, the next day I was still irritated with the whole concept of 'happy little trees,' and I painted this on a whim to see if I could paint 'angry little trees' instead."

"Angry little trees," repeated Jones, looking at the painting again. "'Angry' isn't quite the description I would have used. _Homicidal_ little trees maybe. Psycho little trees planning to slit your throat in a dark valley. But I guess we can go with 'angry.'"

Diana took a step to the right, then a couple of steps to the left, then back to the right, never taking her eyes off the painting. "It's like one of those paintings where the eyes seem to follow you. Wherever you go, the psycho little trees are _watching_."

Neal gave her a slightly disturbed look. "Diana, they don't have eyes. They're just trees."

She smirked. "I know," she said, raising her eyebrows, "That's what makes it so creepy."

"Ok, now you're just making fun of me."

"Yes, I am," she admitted. "But really," she said, shaking her head, "those are some _seriously_ creepy little trees."

Author's Note: After running across several jokes referencing Bob Ross's "happy little trees," I just couldn't get the idea of Neal painting "angry little trees" (and Mozzie demanding he start over because they weren't 'happy' enough) out of my head. Hope you enjoy!


	5. Faith

Moderator: "There has to be immense trust between you two..."

Peter: "Usually. But when there isn't, there's always faith... Faith that whatever the other is doing, it's for a good reason." —"Vested Interest"

* * *

><p>Peter's phone ringing at 7am on a Saturday was rarely a good thing. He glanced at the screen. It was Hughes—definitely not a good thing.<p>

"Hello?"

Hughes didn't bother with small talk. "Peter, did you mention that art auction to Neal?" Peter's heart sank. The White Collar division had been preparing to raid an auction of stolen art. It was rumored to be planned for next week, but they had kept the building under surveillance until then anyway. They had deliberately left Neal out of the loop on the grounds that it would be extremely tempting for him and too hard for them to keep a close enough eye on him.

"No, I haven't mentioned a thing. Like we agreed." Peter didn't want to ask the next question, but knew he had to. "Why do you ask?"

"Jones and Barrington just picked him up walking out of the building with a carrying tube. They're bringing him back to White Collar now."

"I'm on my way."

Peter sighed and rested his head in his hands. _How stupid was he to think Neal wouldn't find out about the auction just because Peter didn't tell him? And why did Neal have to be an idiot and take the risk?_ If the painting in that case was stolen or forged, Neal would go back to prison. Even if the tube turned out to be empty, he could still go back to prison unless he convinced Hughes that he wasn't there for the auction.

El walked into the room and stopped dead. "Honey, what's wrong?"

Peter took a deep breath. "You know that illegal art auction I told you about?" She nodded. "We've been keeping the building under surveillance, and apparently Neal just walked out with a painting. They're taking him back to White Collar now."

"Oh, honey." El walked over to give him a hug. "Maybe he was there for something else?" she asked hopefully.

"Neal just happened to take a painting for a walk to the one building within his radius that's hosting an auction of stolen art? I wish it were true, El."

* * *

><p>Neal, Hughes, Diana, and Jones were already in the conference room when he arrived. He could hear Neal talking as he approached.<p>

"Agent Hughes, _please_. I can explain everything if you just let me show you the painting before you call Peter in."

"Or you could explain after Peter gets here, and then you won't have to repeat yourself."

"Hughes, _please_!" Neal sounded desperate. "Just look at the painting and hear me out! I wasn't there for any auction. If you still have doubts, you can always call Peter in. Just give me a chance first!"

Peter could see Diana where she was leaning against the wall. She looked torn, as if one part of her scoffed at the idea of playing along with Neal's tricks and the other part couldn't help believing him. Peter couldn't blame her. He couldn't come up with any legitimate reason why Neal wouldn't want him involved, but still, this didn't sound like suave Neal Caffrey pulling a con. He sounded sincere. Actually, he sounded close to tears, which wasn't like Neal at all.

Hughes had opened his mouth to respond when he saw Peter. He waved him into the room. Neal's shoulders slumped, all hope of avoiding Peter's involvement dashed. He looked down at the table and fidgeted with one of the buttons on his shirt cuff to avoid meeting Peter's gaze.

Hughes turned to fill him in. "So, Peter, Neal tells us he can explain why he was in the building by showing us the painting he was carrying. But he doesn't want you present. What are your thoughts on that?" Hughes taut smile didn't reach his eyes.

Peter hesitated. He wished Neal would look at him. Neal had fooled him many times, but he knew his CI well enough to pick up some clues, especially when he was genuinely upset. He frowned. If Neal was truly on the up-and-up, why wasn't he trying to convince Peter, or even looking at him? Finally, he answered.

"I think Neal's smart enough to know that if there's a stolen or forged painting in that case I _will_ end up involved. And also smart enough to know that you, Diana, and Jones are just as qualified as I am to _recognize_ a stolen painting or forgery...So, I'm going to assume he has a good reason for that request." Neal looked up. He looked startled and also incredibly relieved. Peter gave him a slight smile. _Don't make me regret that, Neal._ He glanced back to Hughes. "You want me to wait outside?"

Hughes looked surprised. After a moment, he nodded. Peter stepped out of the room. "All right, Caffrey. Show me the painting and convince me you're innocent."

Neal reached for the tube and slid the rolled-up painting out of it. He kept his eyes on what he was doing as he carefully unrolled it on the table. It was an impressionist style painting of a small bridge over a pond, surrounded by water lilies and other flowers. Just from the style and subject matter, it looked like a Monet, and yet—

"Is that Central Park?" said Diana.

"Yes."

And in the bottom corner was a prominent, clear signature: "Neal Caffrey."

The three agents studied the painting for a few moments longer before looking at Neal for an explanation. He shrugged, "As you can see, it's not stolen; it's not a forgery; it's nothing that anyone at an illegal art auction would want. I swear, I didn't even know there _was_ an auction. I was there to see a guy who's really good at mixing paint. I wanted to see if he could help me figure out how to get the shade of yellow I wanted to finish it off." He gestured to a group of flowers that looked just a little less finished than the others, lacking some highlights. He glanced from face to face, trying to figure out if they believed him.

Diana slowly began to smile. She thought she was starting to understand what was going on here. Hughes and Jones still looked puzzled.

"If all you were doing was going to get advice on one of your own paintings, clearly labeled as your own work, then what was all that fuss about not letting Peter see it?"

Diana smirked and waited to see if she was right. Neal shifted nervously, not sure how this was going to be received.

"Because it's his birthday present."

* * *

><p>Several weeks later, a small group gathered at the Burke household for Peter's party. El had provided a lavish spread of Peter's favorites as well as "fancy stuff," and Satchmo was making the rounds getting petted by everyone in attendance. By the time the cake was served, Peter's coworkers from the White Collar division were trying not to laugh at the sight of Neal, impeccably dressed in his suit and hat as always, sitting on the floor happily wrestling with the dog.<p>

Most of Peter's birthday presents were small items: interesting books, a new coffee mug, etc. When Neal pulled out a large, flat wooden crate topped with a bow, Peter glanced over at his coworkers in shock. Diana and her girlfriend were grinning. Jones and Hughes looked amused.

No one had ever told Peter what Neal had shown them after he left the room. Hughes had simply walked out and commented "You were right. I've told him next time he should try to have his 'good reasons' somewhere we're _not_ conducting a sting." He hadn't been told anything else about Neal's "good reason" for being in that building, but Peter had the feeling he was about to find out.

He opened the crate. He stomach lurched slightly when he took in the distinctive, famous painting style, even though he knew Neal wouldn't give him a forged painting in front of his boss and coworkers. A moment later, he recognized the scene, and finally he saw the bold signature in the corner. He was smiling as he picked up the card tucked inside.

"Happy birthday, Peter. You seemed to like the Monet-style painting you saw before, so I hope you'll like this scene. I didn't mean to give you a Saturday-morning heart attack to go with it—Sorry! Thanks for trusting me. —Neal"

Peter turned to his wife. "El, weren't you saying the other day that you thought we should put something new over the mantel?" He picked up the painting and turned it to face her, smiling, "How do you feel about a Neal Caffrey original?"


End file.
